


Unholy Geometry

by bibliothekara



Series: Dragon'Verse [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Future Fic, Gen, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-17
Updated: 2011-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-14 20:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliothekara/pseuds/bibliothekara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Future!Fic. "She depended on Hotch to be there. Maybe a little too much, if she was honest with herself." What happened in the 36 hours before Jack's midnight phone call to Dave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unholy Geometry

**Author's Note:**

> a) Prequel to That Sword Nor Spear...  
> b) Set in an AU where JJ never left the BAU.

******

When Jack had called her, that awful day, part of Emily Prentiss had been surprised. Hell, part of her had been absolutely terrified. And instinctively glanced toward the back corner of the BAU bullpen. Towards one particular office. Because it hadn't ever sunk in, really. Even after 12 years on the team. After 3 years unofficially-officially helping to run the BAU herself. Even after the new team members started to "ma'am" her (which unnerved her greatly.) Even after all that, she depended on him. Depended on his experience and judgment, to fix the things she couldn't. She depended on Hotch to be there.

Maybe a little _too_ much, if she was honest with herself.

But then again, another part of her-the rational, profiler part-was not surprised at all. Because the man was infuriating that way. When she, or JJ, or any one had a problem, he would ask if they needed to talk. To him, or to *someone*, if they couldn't. When his son needed...well, just about anything, he was there. A shoulder to cry on, an dad to automatically take his side, someone to ponder the great mysteries of the universe.

Her brain produced, unbidden, one memory of paperwork, pizza, and a little bit of philosophy. Morgan and Reid had been gone by then, Garcia on her way out. Dave had been gone for a while. JJ, with her trademark directness, had left a note on both of their desks.

 _Quo vadis?_

Where are we going? And so Hotch had decided that his living room table should bear the sacrifice, that they would look over the new recruits, make up their new team together. With the aid of pizza.

And Jack had walked in. Jack, who had just started a unit on the Ancient Greeks at his school, came in and entertained them while they worked. In a style wholly reminiscent of his "Uncle" Reid, though no one said it out loud. He just...held forth. On Plato, Aristotle, even a few of the playwrights. While she and JJ laughed, and peppered the young man with questions, his father sat there and beamed.

Hotch would take everything on himself, bear the stories of everybody around him. But what he gave of himself, what he'd let people bear for him, that was a much smaller quantity. And as much as she might try, Emily wasn't Dave. Even after twelve years, she could still rarely bring herself to call him Aaron. She'd done it all of twice, she thought, and it felt unnatural each time.

No, actually. It had been a third time, yesterday.

They had just gotten back from Bemidji the day before; the team was glad to be home. Lieu (Boston PD, New Haven Field Office) had been ragging on Davis (Florida State Police, ATF ) about the 2 parkas he packed for the trip to Minnesota.

Emily had never been in one place long enough before now. to consider herself a winter or summer child. Cold-blooded or warm-blooded. She was sure there was a probably a biological term for what she was, but she couldn't remember it.

Hotch hadn't come in that morning, but since he had looked run-down, fluish the night before, she had expected that. (Not that the legacy of George Foyet didn't still terrify her; new BAU agents learned very quickly to be punctual about their sick calls. Or SSA Prentiss was likely to literally show up at your house.) She could order anybody else to take a sick day, and they'd do it, unquestioned. One benefit of being known as the Dragon Lady. (A nickname she never thought she would share with her mother.) But with Hotch, she had only made a bad joke about Cylons, or maybe it was the Bionic Man. He had smiled, a little, and made a "yeah, yeah, yeah" motion with his hands.

So there she was. Late afternoon, in what she still thought of as Rossi's, or even Gideon's old office. Proudly finishing paperwork at a pace she was sure the two previous occupants had never achieved.

And Ramona knocked, loudly, on her door. More loudly then usual. Emily had looked up, and immediately knew from Ramona's expression something was wrong. The curse of reading people, Emily thought: you know a few moments before everybody else when things went to hell.

Jack was on the phone. Jack should just be getting back from his school by now; something Hotch had mentioned offhandedly, something about jazz band rehearsals, about a concert he was really looking forward to. So Emily pushed back her misgivings, and took the phone from Ramona.

"Agent Prentiss, I mean, sorry, Emily?"

"Hey Jack, what's going on? Did your rehearsal go well?"

"I think Dad's in trouble."

Emily couldn't catch her breath for a moment.

"Jack, tell me everything."

"Well, I thought he went to work today, he looked like he was getting ready when I went out this morning. He made me some waffles, some juice, everything, and then I went out."

"Jack, he never showed up today. I thought he took a sick day."

Jack was talking a mile a minute, obviously trying to keep his composure.

"Yeah, yeah, well, I came home about 20 minutes ago, and there were boxes all over the living room. They look like archive boxes, FBI boxes, I think. It's a mess. Dad never leaves a mess. He always cleans up, always. And his briefcase was there. So I went to his room, and his room was all closed up, but I could see a light coming through. And I knocked, and I though I heard him moving around, but he wouldn't answer. I knocked some more, and I called his name, and he won't talk to me, and could you or JJ or somebody please come talk to him?"

The teen sped up on those words, and his voice had risen about an octave. It took all of Emily's control not to panic with him.

"Jack, I'm coming over right now, okay? Keep trying to talk to him, but don't go in until I get there, all right?"

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Just, hurry, please?"

She never knew how JJ did it- the woman had some sort of telepathic power, a psychic link or something. But when Emily hung up the phone and rose from her chair, there JJ was, standing in the doorway. Looking like Emily felt.

"What is it?"

"That was Jack on the phone."

"I though Hotch took a sick day."

"So did I. But Jack says he's locked himself in his room, and won't come out or talk."

If JJ was as shaken as Emily had been by the news, she hid it well.

"What do you need?"

"I'm going over there right now. Can you hold down the fort here? Can you tell...can you..."

She waved, helplessly, towards the bullpen, towards Lieu and Davis and the probie, Alex Renford. The truth was, Emily wouldn't really know how to explain. But she had faith JJ could.

"Of course."

She headed towards the door of her office, grabbing her bag as she went. JJ caught her arm, firmly, as she passed the threshold.

"Call the second you know anything."

"I will."

Emily had driven the route to the Hotchners' apartment many times. But never in as short a span. She was amazed not to run into any squad cars, the way she was driving. She flattered herself that she had gotten the best of both worlds. She had acquired the best techniques of both Morgan and Hotch, without some of the more reckless tendencies of either. Especially the latter. Emily had been really amused, the first time she realized it. That her boss, buttoned up Bureau true-believer, still tended to drive like the Virginia back-road teenager he had been so many years before.

She tried not to tap her fingers impatiently on the elevator panel. Tried not to let the experience trigger memories she would rather keep repressed. Hotch was there. He was alive. She would not find broken glass on the floor, or a pool of blood on the carpet.

Emily would fix this. She owed that much to him. To him and Jack.

Finally, she reached their door, and knocked, expressing a little more panic then she would have liked.

"Jack, it's me, it's Agent Prentiss. It's Emily."

The door opened, and reflexively, Emily was knocked back. To see Jack Hotchner looking her straight in the eye. The dark coloring of his father, but with a sprinkling of his mother's fair hair and delicate facial features.

"In here."

She followed him through the living room, only stopping for a moment to widen her eyes at the state of things. It was exactly as Jack had described. Piles of old files. Or copies of old files. Strewn over the coffee table, and the kitchen table, too.

Her eyes searched for something in particular. Emily hated to do it, but Prentiss the agent knew she had to. There it was, and she released a breath she didn't even know she had been holding. Hotch's service weapon, locked in the gun safe on the table. (The thought of the backup sprang forth, but she stuffed it back down.

They reached Hotch's bedroom door. She could hear him, pacing around the floor.

"Hotch, it's me, it's Prentiss."

No answer.

"Jack's out here, too. Please open the door. Whatever's wrong, whatever's happened, it'll be fine. Open the door."

"Dad, please, talk to me."

Still no answer. But the movement stopped, as if he was now standing, or sitting in one place.

She whispered to the frightened boy at her side, putting what she hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Do you know if he has a key, a master key to these rooms?"

"I don't think so. We never lock any door except the front. He trusts me. I trust him. We don't need to, right?"

Emily couldn't help but smile. Lucky Hotch, to have been gifted with one of the few perfectly behaved teenage boys in existence. Not that Hotch would have complained even if Jack had been Rebel Without A Cause, or a Clue. Emily knew that Hotch had spent every day of the last ten years thanking fate, God, whomever, whatever, for every day he spent with Jack.

She had to do it. Hotch was going to hate her, but she had to do it.

"Jack, stand back. And get ready, I might need your help."

She kicked at the door. Her foot protested, but there was no result, except to loosen the lock the tiniest bit.

"Oh, Derek Morgan, where are you when I need you?" She'd have to go with Plan B. "Jack, I need you to stand next to me, and slam your shoulder against the door as hard as you can."

"Okay."

That did the trick. And fortunately, left the hinges of the door pretty much intact.

But what she saw when the door opened stopped Emily Prentiss cold.

As messy as the living room had been, the bedroom was immaculate. File folders, photographs, typed pages she couldn't recognize. All laid out in a grid on the floor. It was hard to even find space to walk.

As she did, she started to recognize names. Names of places. Vienna; Lawrence; Pikesville. Names of people. Traviss; Juliano; Slocumb. Some dated back to the late 1990s.

Cold cases. The ones they couldn't solve. Or the ones they hadn't caught in time.

One of Hotch's bed lamps was still on, the light almost illuminating the opposite corner of the room.

And there he was. Sitting perfectly still in the corner, legs up to his chest, arms around his knees. Surrounded by this...this thing, he had made.

She crouched down in front of him.

"Hotch. Hotch, are you hurt? Are you sick? Can I do anything?"

He wouldn't meet her eye.

"A-Aaron." The name sounded wrong in her mouth, but she had to try. "Tell me what's wrong."

Jack crouched beside her, bracing himself. He reached toward his father's hand, and held it tentatively.

"Dad. Daddy, it's me. It's Jack."

That provoked a response. Hotch looked up. First at Jack's hand, and then at Jack and Emily.

But not at them. Only in their general direction. Emily had seen it before, all too many times. She couldn't help it. She broke away from the blank gaze.

Jack didn't. Jack wouldn't. He leaned forward, and held his father's arms.

"Dad, what is it, please, tell me. Tell me. What happened, what is it? TELL ME! ...please."

At the last, he was almost shaking his father, unconsciously, in his panic. Emily had to grab him.

"Jack, stop it. STOP. It won't do anything."

And then Hotch responded. Quietly. He looked at Jack's hand again, now lying on his father's knee. Hotch took it gently, and then held it tight.

The emotion Jack had obviously been repressing for the last hour all came tumbling out.

"Dad, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He held his father in his arms. But Hotch did not return the embrace; merely buried his face in his son's shoulder.

Emily couldn't take any more. She rose, her joints reprimanding her as she did so. She dialed 3 on her cell phone.

"Jareau."

"JJ, it's me."

"Thank god. Are you there? Is Hotch okay? Is Jack?"

Emily, still dazed, took a moment to think the question through.

"Physically, yeah, everybody's fine."

"Em, what's going on?"

"Could you call somebody for me?"

"Okay." JJ sounded confused, but Emily could also hear her searching for a pen.

"Dr. Avrille, over at St. Elizabeth's."

There was a deathly silent pause.

"Emily, she's the head of the psych ward."

"I know."

JJ was quiet for a minute, but as always, quickly regained her equilibrium.

"Should I ask her to send an ambulance?"

"I think so."

"Emily...I've got to tell the rest of the team. What do I tell them?"

Emily hadn't thought that part through.

"That Hotch was more sick than we knew after coming back from Minnesota, that they're admitting him as a precaution. And then...we tell them."

"Okay. Okay. I'll go tell Lieu she's in charge, and then I'm coming over there. It'll be okay, Em. It will."

"All right."

Emily hung up the phone, and looked down at her feet. She looked back over at Hotch and Jack. And then at the unholy geometry that lay before her.

"Hotch. What is this? What were you looking for?"

She wondered if *he* even knew.

 **fin**   



End file.
